Past Crucified
by NeithKe
Summary: Fate plays a disconcerting little game with Alec, introducing him to a part of his life that he hoped to never confront. (Pointless bit of inconclusive nothingness.)


I was never a religious person Lena Marie Huber Lena Marie Huber 5 71 2001-11-10T04:39:00Z 2001-11-10T04:51:00Z 2 1252 7137 59 14 8764 9.2720 

past crucified

by lena (witty@chartertn.net)

i don`t own alec or father destry. But if i did own alec, he`d be my eternal loveslave and we`d make blissful love every night for the rest of our lives. yep.

A/N: i was having crazy thoughts and this is what came out. it`s not very good or very useful or anything like that; just a bit of alec-induced fluff. 

- - - -

I was never a religious person.

          Of course, I never got the chance. Manticore was my religion: an endless service of mission and duty and discipline. The barracks were our sanctuary and rations our bread and wine.

          And our god...our god was Lydecker and we placed sacrifices of inmates on his altar. Inmates that we had killed with our own hands; torn apart to appease the bloodlust of our god.

          I take that back, religion – however convoluted it was – played a big role in my life. But I`ve never felt the urge to fall onto my knees and pray for eternal redemption...I don`t believe in that phony shit.

          So why am I standing on this sidewalk, inhaling the frozen Seattle air, and gazing with emotions I don`t even understand at some gigantic Catholic church?

          Walls climb toward the sky, beckoning me with reminders of the fences and barbed wire that I can`t seem to forget. The heavy wooden doors open soundlessly beneath my hands, letting me into the foreign cavern of the cathedral. My footsteps echo soundlessly on the stone floors and bounce back at me, off of the statues of the Virgin and off of the stained glass. I`m transported back to Manticore, back to the sounds of military-issue boots stomping down hallways while strange mutants cackle and shriek inside their cages. _Clack, clack, clack..._

With a sigh, I sit down on one dark-stained pew and inhale slowly. Incense permeates the air, mingling with colored light, and infuse me with a momentary feeling of light-headedness. I had been in churches before: once, during a mission, I had to follow a man who was a devout Catholic and learned more than my share of the Latin language. But it seemed different, coming into one in and of my own free will, like I was admitting something to whoever happened to be watching.

          I snorted, shifted on the pew. Yeah, okay, Alec. Like anybody`s watching you. The only people looking out for you are the people that want you sacrificed back on the altar.

          X5-494, the pure white lamb.

          A noise to my right draws my attention and I glance over my shoulder. Ah, confessionals. An old woman was leaving the booth, looking relieved and fairly pleased as she shuffled toward the door, shawl tucked against her shoulders. If only peace could be so easily attained for everyone.

          I glanced around. No one else occupied the church except for the kind looking statue of the Lady swathed in blue in front of me and I didn`t think she cared too much what I did.

          Impulsiveness _had_ always been one of my weak points. Who am I to be untrue to myself?

          The booth in quiet, dark, and I`m glad that I`m not claustrophobic or I know that I`d be tearing at the wooden walls to get out. On the other side of the partition, a slat slides over and the shadowed man on the other side crosses himself. A priest. Even in the gloom, I can see him clearly. Thanks, Manticore.

          "In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen."

          He looks kind enough, youngish with shaggy brown hair and kind eyes. There`s a kind of safety in knowing he can`t see me, can`t possibly know who I am and bring it back on me. Use it as a vulnerable point.

          Damn it, I need to stop being so paranoid.

          Damn it, I need to not cuss in a confessional booth.

          "How long has it been since your last confessional, my son?" He asks, arranging himself into a comfortable position.

          "I`ve never been to confession," I reply after a moment. With my hearing, I notice the hitch in his breath as if he`s shocked...frightened to hear my words.

          Slowly, the priest says: "You-you`re not Catholic, then?"

"No." A simple answer. It felt like he was almost waiting on me to say more and I can hear him inch back, away from the partition and to a better angle so that he can see my face. I was becoming uncomfortable, feeling his intent scrutiny.

          "Look, I don`t know why you wanna get a good glimpse of my face but I promise I`m not a convict or anything."

          The priest shakes his head, still catching glimpses of my face as I speak.

          "She said you were dead." His voice is barely above a whisper and it seems to carry on a nonexistent wind.

          "Who said I was dead?" I asked, more than slightly confused. This man didn`t know me, surely.

          "Max."

          I started. Why would Max tell this priest that I was dead? Speaking my mind, I ran a hand through my hair and began watching him as he watched me.

          "You don`t remember? You can`t tell me that you don`t remember." I can smell his fear, his nervousness, like he`s waiting for me to strike out, cobra-like and rip out his throat. Did Max do something to him...?

          "Excuse me? What am I supposed to remember, Father?"

          He shakes his head again, rubs his palms over the material of his black slacks.

          From the corner of my mind, a memory springs up – Max when I first entered her cell back at Manticore. Her whispering "_Ben"_ as she caught glimpse of me.

          Did that bastard 493 do something? I`m confused, yes.

          I knew 493 – Ben – had gone crazy, flew off the handle and started killing people. They never told me exactly why or who, though, but I knew from what little gossip flew through Manticore about the rogue X5`s that he was seriously, psychotically devoted to...

          "Does this have something to do with the Blue Lady?" I ask, leaning forward and place my hand on the screen. The priest rears back, flattens himself against the wall.

          "You took me once, Ben, and I don`t know why Max told me you were dead...but you will not take me again, by the blessed Lady you will not!"

          Ben, Ben, Ben. Ben tried to kill this man. Max killed Ben. Ben is my genetic twin.

          Stupid bastard.

          "Calm down!" I snap, angry now at 493, at Manticore, at myself for coming to this stupid church in the first place. Weakness, that`s all it was. A moment of weakness. "I`m not Ben, okay? I`m his...twin." It tastes horrible to say that out loud for the first time. My _twin was a psycho and nearly made __me a psycho from the PsyObs I had to endure. He killed people, this man that shared my training and my voice and my face._

          Jesus, that scares me.

          "Twin?" The father is incredulous, still pushed against the wall.

          "Twin, yes. You know, genetically identical. No wonder you nearly pissed your pants." I wince and correct myself immediately. "Sorry, nearly...uh...peed your pants."

          I thought the priest would have chuckled had it not been for the fear that was still evident. It clung to him like a second skin. Ben must have really worked him over, busted at his psyche.

          Poor fucker.

          "Look, I don`t know what Ben did to you, okay? But if you don`t set back down on your chair and stop trying to swing from the ceiling, you`ll give yourself a heart attack." He moves slowly, obeying, but still keeping his eyes on me. "What, you don`t think that I would tell the truth in a church, talking to a priest while in a confessional?" I laugh quietly at his surprised expression and run a hand over my face.

          "I should just go. This was a stupid idea to come in here anyways." I stand up; move to exit before I can berate myself more for my rashness. But how was I supposed to know that 493 tried to kill the priest in the confessional? Jesus.

          "No, no." The priest takes a deep breath to compose himself, makes the sign of the cross over his chest. "I`m being a fool, that`s all. The Lady will protect me, she has before. I shouldn`t be afraid of a stranger, no matter who he resembles."

          I nod in agreement and sit back down. Something in me hadn`t wanted to leave yet, anyway. Too much on my mind, weighing down my already eternally damned soul, I guess.

          "So, how does this thing work? Are you going to make me starve myself for penance or something, because if you are –"

          "The church is rarely that extreme any more," replies the priest, the faintest of smiles at the corner of his lips. "Just tell me what`s on your mind, young man. And don`t tell me who you are...I believe I`ve already gotten to know your family well enough."

          With a morbid chuckle, I nod and rest my head against the wall holding up my back. "You see, father, I`m not a church guy, really. I wasn`t raised with a...conventional religion. And now that I`m out here in the world by myself, I`ve done some pretty stupid things. You know your friend Max? See, she has this virus bitch in her DNA..."          


End file.
